


Trust

by demiclar



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Drifter being soft, Eris Morn (mentioned) - Freeform, F/M, Guardian angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nonbinary Guardian for your preference, Not Beta Read, Other, Season of Arrivals, The Darkness is Scary, The Guardain, We Die Like Men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:53:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demiclar/pseuds/demiclar
Summary: Drifter comforts the Guardian after a long week of battling the Darkness. Set during Season of Arrivals.
Relationships: The Drifter/Guardian (Destiny), The Drifter/Nonbinary Guardian (Destiny)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 62





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I've never written Drifter before so I thought I'd try my hand! I hope you all like this piece. I wanted to get it out while it was still relevant so it is a little rushed but hopefully that doesn't show lol.

Drifter was finishing up after the last gambit match of the day when the Guardian landed on the transmatt platform. Despite everything that was going on, despite the darkness and the Exo stranger and working with Eris Morn, he’d kept Gambit going. Had to, needed to. He would do what he could to fight this darkness, but he needed Gambit going, needed the motes in the bank for the moment everything went to Hell. From the look on the Guardian’s face, it already had.

The Guardian had come by a few hours before. They’d been playing gambit for a few hours. They’d stayed in the que, so Drifter had kept throwing them back into the game, over and over and over again. He’d watched during the matches, his eyes following his favorite guardian as they threw themselves at their enemies, leaving the battlefield so covered in motes it took all their teammates to collect them all and get them into the bank. After they’d summoned their Primeval, they’d gone after it and the envoys with a sort of hunger and desperation Drifter hadn’t seen in them in a long while. Not since they’d first come to his game, after the death of their friend Cayde-6. The Guardian had worked through some things in the months after the Vanguard’s death, things of writhing grief and guilt and pain. Drifter had helped them. He wouldn’t deny, seeing them back in this state was…unsettling.

“Hey, hotshot.” He called down. He was still standing at the top walkway, looking down towards the Guardian that had just dropped into the left transmatt bay, as if they were trying to join into another match.

Only it was different this time. Their helmet was off, held down at their side in their right hand, their fist clenched so hard around the edge that he could see the tension in every muscle in their arm, even through their armor. It ran up from their arm to their shoulders, held tight, just as they had been for the last few hours. And he’d hoped Gambit would help them work off some steam. So much for that.

“You did great out there.” He continued, keeping up his usual smile and affable tone as he turned to only half face the Guardian, eyeing them as he flipped a coin nonchalantly. “Keep this up and people will come looking.” He reminded, giving the Guardian a sly smile. People were already looking. They both knew that much.

But the Guardian didn’t return his smile. They only reached to the holster on their thigh and drew out a sidearm. One of the guns he’d given them, decrypted from an umbral engram a few days prior. They looked down at it with eyes that had seen far too much too quickly, a Guardian who had lived to become legend—and had suffered the weight of it—despite their so far short life.

“I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Their voice was raspy, broken, cracked, and their words sent adrenaline spiking through his veins as he nearly reached for his own gun, his mind jumping to the possibilities of what they’d meant. This Guardian, they’d wielded the darkness before. They’d gone down the hated path, forged a new Thorn, used his Malfeasance cannon, and had been using the weapons of Darkness they’d been decoding from the umbral engrams for the past week. But there was something different in their eyes as they looked down at the sidearm.

“Come on up, kid. Tell me what’s on your mind.” He had to take a little breath to calm whatever nerves had spiked at the Guardian and that gun. He’d been using the darkness for a while now, but there were still…things he didn’t quite understand, still unknowns. It never hurt to be cautious, even of those he trusted.

He turned to face them fully as the Guardian lifted their head, tucking the sidearm back into the holster with a movement that he could tell was purely muscle memory as they stared up at him with lost eyes. As if it took a moment for them to process his words, they blinked, then nodded, real slow, their eyes pulling away from his face as if they didn’t have the strength to meet his eyes.

He watched the Guardian hop down onto the center platform, following the staircase up towards his little catwalk with slow feet. They looked almost dazed, like their mind was lagging far behind reality even as they made to approach him. He’d never seen them like this. Even when he’d first met them, their pain had always been more present, a jagged, gaping wound, not…whatever this was.

By the time they made it to him, he’d tucked the coin he’d been messing with away, slipping it into his pocket for later, and had crossed his arms as he watched the Guardian approach. They stopped a few feet from him, and despite the tension that so clearly riddled their body, now that they stood before him, he could see they were tired. Bone tired, weary with the kind of exhaustion that came from fighting for days on end without rest. Even if Guardians didn’t technically need sleep, the weariness would come to those that weren’t careful, didn’t look after themselves. But he’d never known this Guardian to be one of those people. They were always ship-shape, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. Now, it looked like if Drifter slapped them in the face, they wouldn’t notice he’d moved until after he’d hit them. Worlds away from how they’d been acting in their last gambit match, only minutes before.

“The Vanguard working you double duty or something?” He asked, searching the Guardian’s face, their posture. They only shook their head. They weren’t the one to ignore Vanguard missions to play gambit, either. Even if they had picked Drifter over the two remaining Vanguards.

“No.” The Guardian answered, and Drifter shut his mouth. The Guardian wasn’t talkative. Never had been. The fact that they were doing it now meant something, and the fact that their Ghost wasn’t buzzing around like a gnat doing it for them meant something, too.

“I don’t understand what’s happening.” They repeated, raising their eyes to his, “Those ships, and the darkness?” They shook their head, pain present in their every feature, every movement. “The last time I saw them…I don’t want anything to do with them.”

Drifter knew well that the Guardian wasn’t about to get what they wanted. He’d heard enough about the ship the Guardian had found on Luna. The inexplicable visions, the voice that had used their Ghost’s as its own, the way they’d brought back their old enemies to fight them again. He didn’t blame them for not wanting to get involved, for wanted to run, to pack up and flee the system. Hell, he’d done it plenty of times, but this Guardian was different. They didn’t run from things, no matter how much they wanted to.

“Even with the Darkness, I don’t know that we’ll have what it takes to defeat them.” The Guardian continued. “And the Nine? What do you think they want? Do you really think they’ll be willing to help us?”

Drifter lifted his gaze over their shoulder, to the massive Haul behind the Derelict, as if the Nine could hear their words from that other realm. He wouldn’t be surprised if they could.

He’d proposed they head to the Haul a few days ago, to ask about the nature of the Darkness, and to see if the Nine really would help them. They had yet to go, busy on Io, charging up his new banks and gathering weapons and armor from the umbral engrams. He’d seen them a lot these past few days, them and the crazy witch, Eris. Thankfully, Eris knew to keep her distance…most of the time. The Guardian, however, did not. They’d practically lived in the annex the past few days. He’d come to recognize the hum of their ship, pulling into the little open transmatt space outside to drop them on the deck before they headed straight to his little setup.

They were paranoid, that much was perfectly clear, latching onto him with all the trust they had as they tried to figure out this new darkness. Despite their use of Thorn and Malfeasance, hesitation had followed them every step that the dark was involved. He’d seen the way they’d acted coming back from rescuing Eris on Io, and he hadn’t missed the hesitation with which they’d picked up the umbral engram, taking it only so that it wasn’t left out on Io for anyone to use how they would. And the guns he’d given them, even if they could use them like no one’s business, every time they picked one up, they did so with this care, this hesitation, as if it could corrupt their own Light with a single touch.

“Hey.” Drifter cut in before they could continue down that long road of uncertainty and worry. “Chin up, hero. Eris and old Drifter are working together on this one, remember? Between the two of us, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about.” He hit their shoulder with a light slap. “And as far as the Nine goes, somethin’ tells me they don’t wanna see us all dead and gone just yet.”

The Guardian’s eyes rose to his and he saw them contemplating what he’d said, trying to believe it, trying to force themselves to be reassured by his words. He didn’t buy the little nod the gave him, shaking his head to himself a little in response. Instead, he stepped forward, taking the Guardian’s arm and pulling them to turn around, before wrapping an arm around them and continuing forward.

“Come with me.” He told them, not stopping or allowing them to object as he led them back towards the hallway that would lead to his little room. He knew the Guardian knew the Derelict well enough to know exactly where they were headed by the time they stepped into the little hallway. He didn’t bother explaining.

“Why?” They asked instead, their voice still that cracked, broken rasp. He could have sworn they looked close to crying.

“You need some time with Ol Drifter.” He told them, not mentioning that they also looked about ready to fall over. He doubted they’d slept since rescuing Eris on Io, and if they had, they’d likely been driven awake by nightmares before they’d managed to actually rest.

They made it down the hall and into the snowy back room before the Guardian went rigid against his arm, their core tightening enough that he could feel it even in the muscles of their back. He rolled his eyes, trying not to shiver, no doubt. They were dressed in their Gambit armor, the notorious reaper set. It was good quality stuff—Drifter had made sure—but he supposed they could still have been cold in it, especially given how exhausted the Guardian likely was already. They likely hadn’t eaten much, either, but Drifter didn’t exactly leave food lying around on the Derelict.

“Come on, hero. You gotta take better care of yourself.” He led the way into the little shipping container, nodding to his little bed of a sleeping bag set atop a sturdy table. “Sit down.” He told them, grabbing a little stool for himself.

Atop his workbench sat a few various projects, discarded pieces he hadn’t needed in the umbral decoder and recaster. Along with them were a set of the guns he’d decoded from the engrams once he’d gotten the machine up and running. He’d taken a few of them apart just in case, opening them up to see their differences. Most of the projects he’d used the guns for had been a dead end, but they gave him something to do with his hands as he sat down before the bench and set to reassembling one.

“Do you remember a few months ago, when I told you the Nine had showed me visions of you?”

The Guardian’s voice made him pause, and he tensed himself as they spoke, even as they followed his little order and moved to sit down on the makeshift bed. They’d slept on it once or twice before, after Drifter had requested their help planning out something for Gambit on a day they’d run a few too many missions to manage staying awake. Another time had been after they’d had a bit too much to drink while Drifter had been teaching them card games. Drifter bit his lip at that memory, even if he wasn’t the one messed up by the arrival of this new darkness, those had been simpler times, better times.

“I remember.” He answered, not glancing back. “What about it?”

The Guardian seemed to shake their head, a rustle of clothing and armor as they set their helmet down on the floor with a light clank, drawing their rifle off their back in suit.

“You knew these ships were coming. In mass, you knew and you tried to warn me, to warn all of us.” The Guardian drew in a shaky breath, and from the clinking that followed, he could tell they were unloading their rifle and setting it down on the metal floors, tucking it beneath the bed.

“I should have listened to you. I—” He could hear the Guardian’s heavy swallow even from across the little container, and the sniffle that followed a moment later. “I’m so sorry.”

Drifter turned round on his stool at that, eyeing the Guardian with a raised brow. Tears were beginning to fall from their eyes as he set down the gun he'd only just picked up.

“Is that what’s got you so upset?” He asked them, standing up to move in front of them, leaning back on the table just across from them once he got there. “Listen hero, I don’t blame you. I’ve been predicting something like this since long before you were born. Preparing, prepping. I was having visions of those ships, but after what you told me about on the moon, I knew it was only a matter of time.”

He watched the Guardian, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He told them. They were doing their best to keep quiet, wiping away their tears all in vain. It was as if a dam had been breached. The floodgates were open, and he knew there was no closing them now. Instead, he crouched in front of the Guardian, dropping to their eye level as they bent over themselves, their arms hugging themselves tight. “But that’s not what you’re cryin’ about, is it?” He made sure to soften his voice at that, his gloved hand reaching up to pull one of the Guardian’s off their face and hold it tight.

They looked up at that, their face twisting in pain for a too-long moment before they shook their head, closing their eyes tight as they furrowed their brows. Then they were falling against him, leaning into him to push their face against his chest, to which Drifter—rather shocked—released their hand and wrapped his arms around them. He pushed himself up, off the ground, shifting the Guardian in his arms to keep them on the little bed, moving to sit beside him as they stayed leaned into him.

“I’m scared, Drifter.” They said into his chest, their voice drawn taught from their cries. “I’m terrified. We’ve already lost the city once before, and—” They gasped, cries quickly turning to sobs. “And Eris said the darkness could bring us to a second Collapse, another Dark Age—that these things—”

Drifter pressed the Guardian closer against him, if only to get them to stop thinking.

“Nobody’s goin’ into another Dark Age.” He promised, his voice clear and firm enough that the Guardian actually paused. “I’ll make sure of that if I have to.” His words surprised even himself—especially since he was quite literally packing up shop for the moment when he had to flee the system—but he ignored it, running a hand down the Guardian’s spine in a slow, calming motion. The Guardian shuddered at the touch, but leaned into it after a moment.

“Even Zavala doesn’t know what to do.” The Guardian said against his chest, their voice small. They were shaking against him now, their shoulders trembling from their sobs, jumping with every little gasping breath they drew in. The amount of weakness it presented to him…. He had always known the Guardian had experienced things like this, had seen them after long sleepless nights, nights likely plagued by nightmares, it was a price of their profession, and their skill within it. But to see them like this…so exposed during it all…he couldn’t remember the last time someone had trusted him that much, or the last time he’d trusted anyone else that much himself.

“Zavala might be a pain in the ass, but he cares about the City.” Drifter found himself saying. “He’d do anything to keep it standing, even if that means allying with the Darkness.”

“But Zavala said—” They lift their head from his chest, a hand braced on the bed just beside his leg.

“He told you to help Eris. Prepare for the oncoming fleet.” Drifter recalled, “Didn’t say nothin’ about staying out of the Dark.”

The Guardian blinked, seeming to realize what he’d said was true. He was right, after all. The Commander had even come to him for help, given him a job to do. The man was certainly loyal, he’d give him that. Still, he watched the Guardian think this over. He didn’t mind their respect for Zavala, even if it had put them in quite an uncomfortable position when he’d asked them to choose between him or the Vanguard. Even if they had chosen him over the Vanguard, it had been a rough few weeks for them, he knew that for sure. But it made their loyalty to him worth a lot more once they’d figured him out enough to feel good about their choice.

The Guardian seemed more or less satisfied with this, and even their crying was slowing down as they shifted to sit up for a moment, ignoring Drifter’s raised brow as they knocked off their boots and laid down on their side on the bed, curling to set their head in his lap.

“Shucks, Guardian.” He hummed, half to himself as he chucked at the position he’d found himself in, “You’re makin’ me look soft.”

The Guardian said nothing, only leaned into him further as he took his hands and ran them through their hair, pulling though the soft locks, lifting the pieces in front that had plastered to their forehead with sweat during their matches.

“Darkness is just another weapon, kid.” He reminded them as their tears finally began to stop flowing. “As long as you don’t turn into some Shadow, you’ll be alright. Malphur will stay off your back so long as you do. I’ll make sure of it.”

Their breathing had eased into something slower as they curled around him, their head in his lap, their back to the rest of the container, as if they were truly at peace there, as if they could trust everything around them, that Drifter would keep them safe from all the horrors he kept aboard the Derelict. They’d drifted off by the time he’d leaned down to drop a little kiss to their brow.

“It’s gonna be alright, kid.” He breathed to their sleeping form. “Promise. Trust.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all liked that little piece! Like I said, this is my first time writing Drifter so comments/critiques and kudos are all greatly appreciated!!


End file.
